Beginning of the Business
by Pianist707
Summary: "What?" I yelled. "Well, not all girls are snobby." Annie takes a step in the business of her legacy. Known as the daughter of what seems to be the greatest spies in the world, she has to claim a name for herself.
1. Chapter 1

_Beginning of the Business_

_Chapter One_

"Annie, can you please answer the phone?"

"Coming, Mom!" I called, ambling toward the living room to nab the phone. I pressed it close to my ear, saying, "Hello? This is the Goode residence."

For a while, there was a bit of static on the other end before a woman replied, "Hello, Annie. Is your mother here? I would like to speak to her." She was the same person who'd called earlier in the week. Her name was…what was it? I forgot; almost every call on the house was about my mom or dad. It was always them, much less commercial calls, or this sweet man calling about a new business trip my mother was going to. Oh, and that includes a lot of my best friends on the line.

I'm going to introduce myself. I'm Annie Goode, and I live in Roseville, Virginia. It's a sleepy town there, and we have our own pace at life. Today's the weekend, and I'm waiting for a call from one of my friends, Bethany Frank. It's the end of the school semester, and today is the beginning of my summer vacation. I'm hoping to get good grades, don't do bad things, and try not to be good-two shoes. My mom encouraged me to go to all these language taking classes, and a whole lot of unnecessary stuff. Really, who needs to learn how to use a chapstick to kill a grown man?

But instead I nodded even though the other woman on the end would see it and said, "Okay, please wait." I set the phone on the coffee table and ran to upstairs to my mom. She was situated on a ladder, painting our guest room with primary paint. "Mom! There's someone on the phone, and she wants to talk to you!"

Mom slid down the steps, placing her roller on a tray. She was wearing a white, messy smock over her clothes with old jeans, her silky shoulder-length hair tied in a quick ponytail. "I'll go there in a sec." She walked down the sheet-covered floor, and spun around, examining her work with a critical eye. "The painting work is done now." She walked down the stairs, me following after. With a quick scoop, my mom held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

After a moment, she smiled and twirled the wires of the phone. "That's great! I can wait. Annie just came from school and then we can get ready…" she trailed off, and nodded. "We'll see you later, we just need some preparations."

"So who was that?" I asked as she shut the phone on the receiver. My mom grinned and removed her hair band, allowing her brunette hair to spill over her shoulders. She removed her smock and hung it on a nearby rack. "It's your father. He's coming home from his entrepreneur work from Hawaii!" My heart skipped. Dad was going home!

"Do we wait?"

She shook her head. "No, silly, we're going to meet him by the gazebo for a quick dinner at the diner. Home alone or are you coming?"

"Formal?"

"Semi-formal, if you want."

I sped up stairs and threw open the door to my room. Deliberately, I whipped out a green shirt along with beige shorts. I was pulling on my socks when Mom called, "I'm waiting!" I made a mad dash down the steps and nearly stumbled into my mom.

She had replaced her old jeans with fresh clean ones and a button-up blouse. Keys jangled in her pocket as she threw open the door, stepping outside.

A car whizzed by, and we jaywalked across the street before we entered the heart of Roseville. Lots of kids from my school were out free, laughing and playing around the gazebo. Occasionally they would gap at my mom. I forgot that single detail: my mom's a hottie, no denying that. We chose a nearby bench and sat, watching the sunny sky overhead slowly diminishing to dusk.

In a few minutes, Dad would come home, and then I could tell them both. About those letters crazily sent from the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. They had my average score and everything; they wanted me to join their boarding school. I'm not sure if my parents wanted me to go there, since the academy has this sort-of reputation with us Roseville people. They're snobby rich girls that go there, and even my science teacher just shuns them. It's pretty extreme.

"Are you excited?" Mom asked suddenly. Her hands were folded on her lap, and she stared on at the guys playing in the town square; many girls were entering stores and the library. Some wanted to finish with their summer homework. I was sort of done with it like…two hours ago?

"It's been two weeks without him, I can't wait." I told her, trying not to implode out of sheer happiness. "When is he coming?"

Just then a man with a fedora hat shielding his face took a seat beside us. I felt uneasy. Because when a suspicious-looking man decides to sit right next to your mother and yourself, it could get really ugly.

The guy removed his hat, revealing my father. Note that he had these dark eyes and handsome features. Am I lucky to have pretty-faced parents?

Oh yeah, he can _actually _be my father. "Hey, Annie!" he said brightly, and I giggled when he tickled my stomach. He smiled at my mom. "It's been awhile, Cammie."

She smiled back and eased closer. "It must've been a long trip to Hawaii and back, right? Seen any tangos around the place?"

I furrowed my brow. "There are no tangos in Hawaii, Mom."

Mom gave a knowing grin to Dad. "I know. But there are some really bad dancers who call themselves a tango. They're horrible. So, did you see them?" she prompted. My father shrugged while wearing his signature smirk (that happens to make women _swoon_) and said, "Saw a lot of them. But it was a close call they saw me watching them. Entrepreneur work is very tough work, Annie. There were a lot of customers who were tangos."

"I am in a _very _dire situation for dinner." Mom announced as she stood up, officially ending the "tango" question and answer. "My treat, I'll pay."

It was packed inside. Parents and kids of different ages and sizes housed the best seats, so my dad chose a secluded corner of three seats. I crawled in the booth, while my mother and father eased a different seat. Promptly the waiter came and took our orders. The din of yelling parents reprimanding evil children was a bit noisy, sure. At least I'm not those shrieking banshees and all.

My mom leaned a bit back in her seat. "So, did you want to tell us about your letters from the Gallagher Academy?" she asked. I doubled back in surprise, nearly choking on my glass of water.

"How do you know?"

She pointed to herself. "You left them on your desk." Dad wrapped and arm around her shoulder, and they both smirked. It was an overload of smirking until I said, "Mo-_om_! I have privacy preferences." I protested.

Mom shrugged and playfully dropped my father's hat on my hat. I could see darkness—literally. "The letter was cut open. And we decided that you would join."

"_What?_" I yelled, and every head in the room turned to me. "But it's an all-girl school! I don't want to go there, it's all about pretty rich girls and they're going to mess with me!"

My parents exchanged looks, seeming to pass a conversation when they turned back. "Annie, it's been a while since we spent some time together. But the Gallagher Academy is the greatest place to be. Well, not all girls are snobby. None of them tried to hurt you, did they?"

I shook my head. He was right. "So you're going to learn what lies inside the school, and you will be amazed. You're twelve now, and next semester is going to be seventh grade. The lowest grade students will begin in seventh grade. Yeah."

My mom and dad are sort of like business people, travelling around, sometimes taking me with them. Maybe the Gallagher Academy has this very large intelligent girls learning more than what I get in the Roseville elementary school. And my parents schooled me a lot more advanced stuff than what I got there. This is starting to actually sound convincing. "What about my friends? I still get to talk to them?"

"Of course, kiddo. But the security in the academy is tight. They don't like intruders." Mom told me. "And the headmistress is kind. But it'll be a surprise."

And that is how my parents convinced me to go to the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. We ate our food, and my mom ordered her dessert, a bowl of sweet custard, and tasted it. She made a face and said under her breath, "This is not crème brûlée."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girls series. Ally Carter does.**

* * *

_Beginning of the Business_

_Chapter Two_

"I'm nervous."

"Don't worry, Annie; you'll be fine."

Let's say we forward the beginning of my seventh grade year by two months.

Yeah right, the last time he said that when Mom and Dad lost me in last year's town carnival. I don't need that unfortunate memory making a flashback in my mind. I'm worried terribly by the size of the school and the entire new curriculum I was going to take. It was going to be a complete new experience for me.

The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women was an all-girl boarding school. The classes were AP. I knew absolutely _no one_ in the school! Who knew if the rumors were true; a Freshmen Friday where we would get beaten up by the seniors or a teacher would hate me…

I really hate my pessimism.

"I have every right to be nervous, Dad. It's a private school. The building is so big! And they're coming out limousines! Are you sure this isn't a school for aristocrat girls?" I demanded.

Dad smirked and adjusted his position on the plush seat. "It's way better than Roseville Elementary. They have a buffet, your own dorms-"

"I'm going to live _there?_" I began to rant, but he plowed on.

"-with three other roommates. What you are going to learn is going to be _very _helpful." Just then, our limo door eased open, and he allowed me out first.

As I took a step, I gazed at the large double doors that would bring me inside the academy. It was to be my first time going there, and having my first classes. I could get lost, which meant the beginning of bad grades. So I could get someone to direct me to my classes. I was fresh.

When I opened the door, I turned to see my dad. But no, my father was taking a step back to the limousine. Where was he going? He was my escort, my father! "I'll see you later, Annie. Your mother and I are going on a new trip. Call us!" I sighed, watching him shut the door of the limo and see it speed away. He was always cryptic. Ever since I got older, he decided to spend more time in his business trips. At least my parents wouldn't bear the problem having an only child at home.

New girls flooded into the front of the foyer, and conversation exploded in the heart of gossip. Girls were speaking quickly. All of us were strangers patiently waiting for the beginning of our first high school year. As I have previously said before, I was nervous.

"What do you think this is about?" A petite girl murmured, crazily shooting glances at the place. "Does anyone else come here because of our high grades?"

"Yes, we did." A girl in an Australian accent fired back. She was tall and lean, confident with her new group. "But I know why I'm here."

A girl with blonde hair beside me nudged me in the elbows. "Do you know about our secret?" she whispered, urgently gripping me by the shoulder.

"No, I'm sorry…I don't." I replied, balancing the suitcase on my foot, careful not to smash myself with the body of other girls. "The school has a secret?"

A few girls began to talk louder. We moved more like a single beast. The longer we waited, the more uneasy we became.

Finally, what seemed like forever, a tall, lean woman strode in sight. She stood in the middle of a tall, spiraling staircase. Her intense gaze was hard as she scanned the sea of girls. I took a good look at her. She was a very beautiful blonde. Coming by the looks of the Gallagher Academy, everyone happens to be very pretty here. "I know this must be a surprise for you, ladies, but the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women is not as what it seems. You have an advanced curriculum, extra credit to follow. But we are known as the Gallagher Girls of today, and the Gallagher Women of tomorrow." I guess the headmistress wanted to get up-close and personal.

"This is my very first year as a headmistress. But I will try my very best to keep the school in order. And protect what is inside. As you know, you are the lowest grade, and therefore, the beginning of our important learning cycle. The all-girl school system empowers for a greater confidence without the restraint of the outside world." She smiled, and I swore for a second, she looked familiar. "This is a school for spies."

Immediately, there was an eruption of chaos, and we started to speak loudly to each other, when the headmistress waited for us to simmer down. I felt dizzy. _Spies?_ I haven't heard that since a movie about James Bond. Spies; we were going to be learning what highly-trained individuals did for our country.

"I may sound crazy, but this is all very true. All freshmen here were selected of their own capabilities and their achieved grades. There is only one Gallagher Academy, although there may be other schools." The info sunk in my brain, and I gulped. "Like us."

"What are we going to do here? Is this CIA or something?" Someone asked. Our headmistress shook her head. "No. You'll be taking Research and Development, Culture and Assimilation, the History of Espionage, Computing, and everything else you need for your education. And the CIA doesn't know. When you graduate, you have learned the skills you will need around the world for your work. I've kept you long enough. Please follow Ms. Alvarez. She will navigate you around the mansion for the first day of school."

We didn't even know the headmistress's name! And yet we were learning for the first twelve minutes of school (my mom always told me to count)

A woman escorted us away to the corridors, listing out several halls that we went through. "This is the East Wing, where you can take the quickest routes to your classes." Or "This is the Grand Hall, where you will be taking your meals," Even "These are the labs." It was an overload of passage knowledge in my brain! I think I'm going to explode. But scientifically, I cannot.

"Your first class is the Countries of the World. So ladies, I recommend you tread lightly and do the best of your ability, because this is the beginning of the fall semester. You will use this for your future careers as spies." She turned on her heel to the East Wing, calling over her shoulder, saying, "And ladies, floor two is where you will be staying. Bring the luggage."

Us freshmen entered the classroom and obediently took our seats, examining our surroundings. A chalkboard stood in front of the room, while adjacent to my right were very wide windows, allowing light to shine brightly in the morning. A few girls yawned, and suddenly I realized that these girls were all…mixed. We came from different backgrounds. Different stories. All of this involved our parents. My mom and dad were on a business trip, but did they know? About I starting to learn the ways of the spy? They've taught me a lot. Not just the little things, very important things that seemed right, like a head-start.

My mother and father were _spies._ I concluded. Or just some unknowing business workers.

Just then, a man with jet-black hair and very bushy brows entered the room. "Good morning, ladies. I am the teacher for the Countries of the World. My name is Professor Smith." He pointed to the chalkboard, riddled with very elegant calligraphy for a man. "For your first lesson, we'll be introduced to Swahili's World War Two history, in the spy's perspective."

This was going to be a _long _week.

* * *

**Any clue whose the headmistress? And the CoveOps teacher? **


	3. Chapter 3

**There is more plot in this. I'm warming up to a certain idea.**

* * *

_Beginning of the Business_

_Chapter Three_

Was this a trick or something? I'm considering that because I was told by an older student that this was the entrance to Covert Operations. I was standing in front of the base of the grand staircase (which is very grand, by the way), facing a full-length mirror hanging in front of a wall. Of course, Ms. Alvarez gave us slips of our schedules on blue paper that dissolves instantly in your mouth. The name is Evapopaper, which sounds very nifty indeed. We already had the tour of most of the school grounds.

But now we stood in front of a portrait of Gillian, and we had no idea what to do. There were twenty-two of us in all, waiting dumbly if this was a trick after all. Do Gallagher Girls play pranks? I hope not.

Seriously, we were standing there for six minutes.

I was seriously starting to regret not taking my father's offer for taking a bag of cookies nearby the kitchen. Mom was probably eating it now on her "business trip," with her infectious fetish love for sweets. She gets really crazy when she eats too much sugar. Just then, someone behind us said, "Excuse me."

I spun to see a tall, dark-haired individual standing behind our short selves. It was like we were seeing the Dark Stallion. "You're freshmen?"

"Yes." We chorused.

The woman nodded and stared ahead of the mirror, not blinking for a full minute. We turned to see a painting of the Gallagher Academy's founder—Gillian Gallagher—flash green, and the mirror slid to the side, revealing a very small elevator. "Entryway to your Covert Operations class." The woman said, gesturing to the doorway. "Let's get in."

I totally trusted the woman and everyone else did too, because we all boarded the elevator. There were no buttons. It went down to one level before there was an abrupt halt, and we were whisked into a classroom that was so modern. The walls of the room were glasses that resembled a snow-like appearance, while the tables were stainless steel.

"Please sit, ladies. This is your first CoveOps class. And it's not going to be on the field." Some girls nearby me groaned. "Today we're listing out several exfiltration techniques that have been proven near successful. But for now, can I learn your names? The headmistress hasn't given me your profiles."

I boggled at 'profiles.' We had our personal information there? Oh, no; there was probably a big fat predicament listed out on how I nearly killed a fourth grader bully with a sharpened number two pencil. The CoveOps teacher began learning names from the first row. By the second, she pointed to me. "My name is Annie Goode, Ms…"

"I forgot to tell you my name?" she smiled a bit. "Fetterman. I'm Anna Fetterman." The now-known Ms. Fetterman finished for me. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment before she moved on.

"Brook Adams." The blonde-haired girl said, and Ms. Fetterman paused again.

More names rang out as we introduced ourselves, but I was more interested with Brook than the names of my pears. "So, Brook." She initiated eye contact with me. "The secret about our school, you already knew?"

My classmate nodded. "My parents are spies, and they…know. Are your mom?"

"I think."

She grinned. "They might be. You're a Goode."

"Huh?"

Brook sneaked a glance before whispering, "Did you hear about the Chameleon? It's a code name." she explained once she saw my confused squint.

"Sort of. Is it a guy spy or something?"

She held up a finger to my lips, and I shut up. Ms. Fetterman turned on a projector, and a picture glowed through the light. "This is an example of an outside exfiltration, an excellent example of a book by book theory. It was done specifically at night, where they tried to capture the package in a populated area." She pressed a button, and the picture became a video.

The video was at a slight view of the sky below. A streetlight was catching this all, perhaps. I took details of the many people situated there. A van was speeding forward, in front of a girl standing in its glare. Two girls were farther away near a bright hotel, and a teenage boy and girl were situated near a dark alley.

The girl with the boy spun at the sight and screamed at the girl in front of the van. "Macey!" she screamed, barreling down the alley, the boy rushed after her. It was hard to seen the small figures with the dim lighting, but it worked. "Run!" the girl shouted, still running until she froze.

I expected the van to smash into the girl, but it didn't. The vehicle only drove past her. It kept on speeding until it intersected between the other girl who'd yelled 'Macey,' blocking her and the boy.

"Cammie!" the boy shouted, and the tall van blocked our view from him, even shielding the passageway to escape. The three other girls ran forward, calling the now aforementioned 'Cammie.'

My heart stopped. Isn't Cammie my mother's nickname? It could be a coincidence…a plain coincidence…

"The terrorist organization was targeting a single person with high security protection detail. But they forgot she went outside an empty alley." Ms. Fetterman said, sounding like she was saying that taking drugs were bad for your health. We watched my mother in her later years resume a stance—and fight a man twice her size. She shoved him off and tore down to her friends, until the man caught up with her and hugged her by the waist. Mom squirmed, until a rag was pressed to her mouth; her eyes grew large and collapsed to the ground with the man piled on top of her.

It would've been funny if it wasn't that my mom nearly died.

People swarmed in, and people fought. I couldn't keep track of who was good or bad, I just kept looking back to my mother. She snapped her head back and head-bashed her captor to the face, and she struggled to run. The terrorist grabbed her again, and started to drag her to the van, to _escape._

"The chances of the exfiltration succeeding increases when there are more distractions. Or casualties." Ms. Fetterman said softly, I had to strain my ears to hear it.

Then Macey was running, calling, "Cammie!" I was hopeful. She was going to save her, right?

But no, the guy just had to pull out a gun, pull a trigger, and fire.

"_No!"_ A woman in a business suit from nowhere jumped in the line of fire just as Mom lunged forward, but it was abrupt. The woman collapsed on the ground, unconscious. Or dead. I hope it was anything but dead.

"Get her out of here!" A man yelled, punching a man in the face as he approached Cammie.

"_Now!" _A woman that looked like the one…bleeding to death and took a step to her fallen (sister?), saying an almost inaudible "Abigail?"

The projector snapped shut, and all forty-four eyes blinked at the sudden darkness. We were all quiet, shocked by the sudden resurface of a scary lesson in Covert Operations. Our teacher cocked her head up and crossing her arms, taking a seat behind her desk. "That's the beginning of life, ladies. It was failed, there's more to it; but it's better off with the first rule of a spy: there are some things you don't want to know." She pointed to the door. "Class is over."

* * *

"Did you get it?" Brook asked as we walked down the corridor, passing higher-classed girls. We went up the second floor Hall of History. "You know, Cammie's the nickname of your mom…"

"I know my mother's name. She was Cameron Ann Morgan." I replied steadily, trying to shake the fact that previously before, I watched a clip of people trying to kidnap my mother, to bring her somewhere far from safety. But it was over. I was born, wasn't I? "But what about the Chameleon?"

She nodded as she digested my little question. "The Chameleon was the code name of your mother. She was good. You can be good. You can be _better._" She added.

I watched a classmate of mine stare at the sword of Gillian, reaching forward before, the headmistress appeared on a whim, saying, "You may not want to touch that. The sword is generated with electricity."

We stood and watched the spectacle as the girl nodded fearfully and stroll away. Whether or not I was a new freshman, I felt fear strike into my heart when the headmistress turned. And started walking. And started saying, "You already made a friend of yours, Brook?"

I whipped my head to my (new) friend, who stared back as if it was normal for your headmistress of a spy school call your name. "Hi, Mom. Um, this is…Annie."

"I didn't see you before, Annie! I'm Mrs. Adams. It's very nice to meet you. How are you managing with the stairs?" she smiled sweetly, and I started melting inside. It was hot. Like hot, _hot_ in Topeka.

"I'm doing fine, headmistress. But when are we going to our dorms? Our luggage." I trailed off.

Mrs. Adams nodded and grinned. "I know the feeling." She stared at the window, at the beginning of dusk and said, "Let's go to dinner."


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoa, I've been out for a long time. Two weeks, maybe? I spent three days searching for my keys so that I (and my brother) weren't going to be locked out for an eternity. And I was suffering from a writer's block. And school. Yes, I'm a real human being who goes to school.**

**Disclaimer: Ally Carter, pseudonym for Sarah Leigh Fogleman (or Foglewoman?) owns all the characters and the five books (soon to be SIX) of the Gallagher Girls series. **

* * *

_Beginning of the Business_

_Chapter Four_

"Good evening, students."

The headmistress of the Gallagher Academy stood regally behind the podium. A lavalier microphone (hidden in her necklace) amplified her voice across the Grand Hall. Her daughter and I were seated in the freshman seats, hungrily staring at the food before us. I felt starved. You exaggerate a lot, my mother would say. I happen to embellish lots of things. Brook kept shooting looks at the alumni and giggled hysterically. But the beginning of our spy training sunk in quickly, because it was very subtle.

"For everyone, I am taking my first year as headmistress in the Gallagher Academy. As you know, I'm a colleague, and a few of my classmates have participated wide around the world using our skills to the greatest. We've saved lives. We'd earned our titles. You will soon make your own, when you go out to the school in your careers. The teachings here have deemed our freshman worthy of taking Covert Operations, which one of our newest faculty members, Ms. Fetterman, is teaching-" Our black-haired teacher smirked to the hearty applause, "-Ms. Monroe is teaching in the Research and Development Department-" a light brunette nodded solemnly, "-and Professor Moore will lecture on the History on Espionage." An elderly woman who must've been very pretty in her prime waved.

Mrs. Adams adjusted the lapel of her black pants suit. "There will be several 'field trips' in the semester, so dress for the weather and you'll be fine. "And I'm proud to say that everyone will have a hopeful future. But for now, let's eat!" Laughter of mirth burst from everyone. Well, we're hungry.

Plates clattered as we exchanged dishes, and our names. By now I knew every other seventh-grader in the room. I would name them, but that's too long for all oxygen-producing nature giving their life for me to speak. Brook tucked into a turkey leg—it's not even Thanksgiving yet—while I found a very good steak. But eating as ladylike was a bit horrifying with Madame Dabney floating around the freshman table with an eagle eye. I pantomimed cutting neat little cubes before taking a bite. Instantly I dug in, chewing as much as I can without being caught like a wolf eating its meal.

"The curfew is by ten 'o clock before we go to bed, I think. My mom's always be through with the whole schedule. It's tight." She confessed. I sipped water and scanned across the room, to see the headmistress by our table. Usually principals didn't stride up to the newbie's table for nothing, much less headmistresses/headmasters. "Hello, girls."

There were murmurs of hellos, and we went right back to reducing our chow into pulp, but Mrs. Adams went to me, handing an envelope to me. "Foreign phones can't be used in the campus, but I have a letter from your mother." Instantly, I was stuttering my thanks and made a grab for the letter, and now it was in my hands.

Vaguely, the corrugated paper smelled faintly like chocolate. I used a nearby butter knife to slice open the top of the envelope, and emptied out a bracelet and the letter. I felt the accessory first, hardly noticing pairs of eyes on me, watching, waiting what I was going to read and my reaction.

"You don't need to read it out loud," Brooke said, dismissing all eyeballs with raise of an eyebrow. "But I'm curious to see what comes to the Chameleon's daughter." She contradicted herself.

I shrugged and unfolded the three-fold paper and read the messy scrawl of my mother. You could have thought it was a boy's, but still, it was my mother's.

_Dear Annie,_

_I guess you already know…or you haven't. The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, since 1865, has been educating future spies to undergo elite training to feed intel and work for major intelligence agencies around the world. But if you already know, I'm glad I don't have to waste this much ink to go through the history of Gillian Gallagher. I suppose the History Espionage teacher will inform you on the topic. Ms. Moore has had well experience in teaching history, since I once spent a spell being interrogated by ex-KGB men and women. _

Brooke and I bit back in a laugh, picturing our soon-to-be History teacher jabbering away of endless facts in a cell she occupied with Mom, nothing but air between them.

_Your father and I were informed by the deputy of the CIA that we are going to work with the FBI on a long-cold case about the disappearances of four paintings from the Henley. It's not risky; you won't worry seeing your mother practically drag herself around in a pair of crutches, you know? And also your father under the influence of a "truth serum." Please keep the bracelet in your possession; it will be useful when the time comes. That is, if you learn there are twelve bags of chocolate chip cookies in your baggage. It cost us twelve minutes to "accidentally" lock you into the closet that early morning. I'll see you soon._

_ With love,_

_ The Chameleon_

"I guess she used her code name in case someone messed with the mail." Brook said, promptly examining the bracelet with interest. It was a simple, silver bangle with elaborate carvings of sapphire blue; a small nick in the center. The bangle was glossy. "I wonder why she locked you in the closet." She grinned at my flushed face.

"That was history." I countered, snatching back the bracelet and replacing the items back into the envelope. I needed it somewhere safe…maybe the false bottom in my luggage? Too risky. The plastic jawbreaker? Someone might actually mistake it for the real thing. "I wonder when we check out our new dorms. I want to get the feeling living with someone for…" I counted the days, "Eighteen-hundred days."

Brook stroked a nonexistent beard. "Eighteen-hundred days means groupie bonding. A good-E thing." I sighed at her corny pun.

As if it was planned, Mrs. Adam's voice came from the din of the blabbering school body. "You may report to your dorms."

Ms. Alvarez was there on a whim, escorting us up the third floor of the academy, and made us halt in the hallway. "For every dorm, there will be four roommates. Don't worry; you will along get along with who you're with. I'm going to call out the names…"

"…Karen Hopkins, Emily Fishman, Antonia Sanchez, and Terry St. Paul will take the first dorm." Four girls that never met each other in their entire lives went in polite chatter. "Jessica Clay, Katherine Ness Evergreen—" I quirked an eyebrow at an olive-skinned girl, "—Nora Schwartz, and Ninà Alexis, you will take the second dorm." The names went on. During that time, I decided to lean against the wall, watching the older girls in the higher grades scale the steps higher than this floor.

"…Lorelei Rowena, Isabelle Bruce, Brook Adams, and Anne Goode will be taking the fifth dorm." I perked up. By luck, Brook and I were in! I was sure we were going to have a good year. Finally, Ms. Alvarez finished off with the remainder of two girls who were lucky to own a four-person suite. Maybe I could introduce myself, and we would get along. Living eighteen-hundred days together, weekend and weekdays…I could handle a snore.

And then we started to our rooms. Brook and I felt awkward, turning the doorknob at the same time. "You turn it, it's the honors." I said.

My friend shook her head. "Um…you can. You definitely touched it first." She said timidly. Other girls passed by us with a curious gaze as they entered doors.

"You can."

"Maybe _you _can."

"But you were there first!"

"No, it was you!"

Everything was becoming a full-scale argument until a brunette beside us said, "I pay homage to you two, but if you can't decide whether or not who opens the door, and then allow me to open it." She said it with a faint French accent. I looked her up and down. Her hair was twisted into a bun and she wore very fashionable clothes and a white beret on her head. She turned the door open as I mumbled, "It's nice to meet you too," although she never said a hello or anything. I'm trying to be polite here.

We stepped inside, examining the four beds arranged near secluded corners. A nearby window allowed sunlight to filter through the blinds. Everything looked weird, like it was an attic.

"Brill." A girl with a genuine British accent spoke, sounding impressed. "I want to sleep, but we might as well introduce ourselves. I'm Lorelei Rowena. And you guys are…?"

"I'm Brook." My friend did a tiny wave, and began to work the baggage to her drawer. Somehow she stubbed her toe on the edge and face-planted herself on the bed. "Ow." Came her muffled voice. I stifled a laugh. "I'm okay."

"Isabelle, but call me Izzy." Izzy settled her bag on the bed and sat, nodding at Brook, who was crawling out of range of the drawer, and remarked, "A bit trippy."

"Well, that leaves me as Annie." Now everyone but Brook (who was still crawling) directed their attention on me. "I just found out my parents are spies, so I'm not sure if I can be like the 'Chameleon.' So, yeah, I'm Annie Goode."

Lorelei smiled coyly. "That's goodie! We can be all best fellows and have fun in the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. I got here out of my grades…" she paused, before adding with an embarrassed sigh, "my parents are teachers in the college."

"Nothing wrong about that. The brochure accepted _mesdemoiselles _ for their genius IQ and spy generations, but anyone with the smarts are in." Isabelle, or Izzy, said.

Why not? I thought. We were being trained what was known as the best-of-the-best.

* * *

**So we have a French, Brit, and two Americana in the mix. Very blendy. And Anna Fetterman. I picture her as a frail-girl-turned-badass CoveOps teacher. And the lessons. This will be _way_ different than the original Frontal Four. **


End file.
